Oxytocin
by Calenithlon
Summary: John comes home from a bad day at the clinic. Sherlock has been bored all day. John thinks Sherlock is acting funny. What's really wrong with him? Johnlock Oneshot.
1. The Trouble With John Watson

**(A/N) So hello, I decided to try my hand at writing a cute little Johnlock fanfic even though I normally write my OC story. I'm kind of testing the waters here as I contemplate writing a much longer Johnlock in the future because I totally ship the pairing. This first part is John's POV and the second is Sherlock's. Hope I didn't write Sherlock too OOC. I wrote this late at night when I couldn't sleep. Maybe review to let me know what you liked and what you didn't? Sorry for any grammatical errors. -KattieWatsonHolmes**

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**John**

It had been a rough day down at the A&amp;E for John. A case of the flu had been moving through and John had gotten thrown up on more times than he would like to admit that day. He was tired, hungry, and just miserable. He trudged up to the flat, and walked into the living room, finding his flat mate sprawled out on the couch dressed in his bed clothes and blue dressing gown. The lanky git had probably been lying there for hours. He didn't even look up as John walked in, of course not. He probably hadn't even realized John wasn't even there.

"Got anything in? I'm starving?" John asked him, not exactly expecting a response as he moved towards the kitchen and pulled open the door to the fridge, crying out in surprise as he was met with the sight of a severed head. "A severed head," John said pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Just tea for me thanks," Sherlock called lazily from the living room. John stood back, slamming the refrigerator door closed again. He didn't need this, not now and not today.

"Another bloody head! Sherlock!" John called as he stomped back into the living room. "Why is there a head in our refrigerator again?!" John all but yelled at him as he tried to remain calm.

"It's an experiment," Sherlock said as if this was supposed to be an obvious fact.

"Oh, yeah, an experiment. I should have thought of that, my apologies," John bit out sarcastically before he left Sherlock and went upstairs to his room. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt out of his drawers before he went downstairs for a hot shower. He turned on the shower before shedding his clothes and steeping into the scalding water. John sighed in relief as the hot water worked itself into his tired limbs. His shoulder was a bit stiff, it would probably be worse by morning. The weather was starting to get colder and that always made it act up a bit. John stood in the spray, letting the water wash over him for a long moment before he reached for the shampoo and squirted some out onto his palm, scrubbing it roughly through his short blonde hair.

John tried not think about having to go back into the living room and put up with Sherlock for the evening. He wanted to relax with some tea in his chair and then get some sleep before he had to go back to the A&amp;E. He felt run down from how much he was working lately and then running around to help Sherlock with cases too. Food, he needed food. He was always in a worse mood when he was hungry. Chinese sounded nice. With any luck, Sherlock would continue sulking on the couch because he didn't have any new cases and John could just ignore him for a bit. John had recently been getting into more fights with the detective over little things. John was tired of the fighting, the sulking, and well, Sherlock being Sherlock. Sure, he loved the annoying git, but after a while he got to be too much to handle. John jumped in surprise as his thoughts registered with him. Did he honestly think that, he loved Sherlock?! John shut of the shower, physically shaking his head as he got out as if that could shake the thoughts from his head. He quickly dressed in his bed clothes, pulling his dressing gown on before he dumped his clothes in the laundry basket and padded into the living room still not sure what was wrong with him.

Involuntarily his gaze flickered over to the detective who was sprawled out on the couch like a cat. He shook his head again and moved into the kitchen. He went on autopilot as he ordered the Chinese, making sure to get what Sherlock normally would eat. He probably hadn't eaten all day. No, he had to stop thinking about Sherlock. John tiredly made himself a mug of tea, making one for Sherlock too even if he didn't think Sherlock would even touch it. He made his way back in the living room to find Sherlock in his typical prayer pose that he only adopted when he was in his "Mind Palace." John shook his head at Sherlock before setting his tea down on the coffee table next to the man. He made his way back over to his chair and sat down heavily in it, surprised when he looked back across to Sherlock and found the younger man sitting upright, reaching for his tea.

"Thank you John," Sherlock told him as he picked up his tea mug and blew on it before taking a small sip. John's mouth dropped open a little bit, doing an impression of a goldfish before he snapped it shut. When did Sherlock ever thank him for bringing him tea or drank it for that matter? Was Sherlock sick? God he hoped not. He would end up murdering him and then the man would probably come back to life to solve his own death.

"Um, yeah, sure," John stammered as he squirmed in his chair and then picked up the paper he hadn't been able to read that morning. He hid behind the pages, not really reading the words in front of him. What was wrong with Sherlock? What had suddenly made the man seem…nicer. Not that John was complaining. It was nice to be thanked for once, but that wasn't Sherlock.

Sherlock was car chases and gun fights and being brilliant all the time. He was the most amazing person John had ever met. What had changed though? Why did John now suddenly realize that he loved him? When did he start loving him? It had to have been before the Woman, John thought grimacing as he remembered their faithful adventure with Irene Adler. He was glad that that woman was gone. He had been jealous when he saw Irene with Sherlock, at the time he couldn't understand why, but now he could. It was the way she stared at him like he was a piece of meat. Then there was when Moriarty had kidnapped him. He had seen the hurt in Sherlock's eyes when he walked out, revealing himself and then the pain as he saw the bomb strapped to John's chest. That had been the hardest thing he had ever done, having to walk out there and make Sherlock think he had betrayed him.

No, it had been before that. It had been that night, the night of their first case together. His veins had felt icy, his heart growing cold as he figured out that the reason the phone was no longer in the flat was because Sherlock had left in a cab with the murder. He had figure it out after that. He thought he was going to be too late, that he was going to find Sherlock dead. He had felt his stomach drop out of him, his heart clench painfully when he had watched Sherlock through the window about to take the pill. He had shot upon instinct, protecting Sherlock without even a second thought. Sherlock had been on his mind since the very first day. There was no stopping him either. Sherlock was a force all on his own. If Sherlock wanted entry, he got it, forcing his way in until he had taken over everything. John jumped as he heard the doorbell downstairs, alerting him to the fact that the takeout had arrived. He cleared his throat and set down his paper as he got to his feet, finding Sherlock looking towards the window suspiciously.

"I'll go and get that, shall I," John said as he grabbed his wallet from him jacket and headed off down the stairs.

Had Sherlock been staring at him? God, he hoped not. That would be embarrassing. Wait, what was he going to do? Sherlock would no doubt be able to deduce John's feelings. The man had already told him he was married to his work. If he found out John loved him, he might feel too uncomfortable having John living with him anymore and then John would have to find a new flat. He would just have to be careful. He could do that right? He could act like everything was fine. Living with this discovery wouldn't be easy. Sherlock never seemed to understand personal space, but he could do it. John quickly paid the delivery boy and thanked him before taking the bag of food back up to the flat. He froze in the door way as he caught Sherlock lying out plates and flatware. Who was he and what had he done with Sherlock Holmes?

"Are you just going to stand there?" Sherlock snapped at him, pulling John out of his thoughts. John shook his head before padding over to the coffee table and started unloading the food from the bag. He pulled one of the kitchen chairs up to the coffee table so he could use the surface before sitting down. He started piling his plate with food, surprised when Sherlock started to do the same. Something was definitely wrong with the man. It was then that their hands brushed against each other as they both reached for one of the take out containers. Both men pulled their hands back quickly. John blushed with embarrassment and looked away from the detective as he felt his hand tingling where Sherlock's skin had touched his own.

"Sorry, mate," John apologized quickly knowing Sherlock didn't like being touched, afraid to even look up at him.

"No, no it's fine," Sherlock told John, whose gaze immediately snapped to Sherlock's. He stared into the grey blue eyes of the consulting detective, noting that his pupils were slightly dilated.

"You feeling alright Sherlock? You look a little pale. Well, paler than normal," John asked him in concern. Sherlock looked off and if John had to guess, ill. Maybe he really was sick. "Maybe you should go lay down for a bit," John suggested internally cringing as he waited for Sherlock to snap some retort back to him.

"No, I'm fine," Sherlock told John a little weakly before repeating himself, his voice a little firmer as if he was confirming this fact for himself. "I'm fine."

The rest of the meal passed in silence. John stole glances at Sherlock whenever he was sure he wasn't watching him. He tried to be subtle about it as he watched the detective eating for once which surprised him. Sherlock never ate unless John really nagged him about it, but here he was doing so willingly. When both of them had finished eating, John was surprised to find that Sherlock had eaten everything on his plate. He cleared up the leftovers and their dishes as Sherlock laid back on the couch and sat in his prayer position. John finished the washing up and decided to head up to bed. He would have another long day tomorrow morning and he had to get his mind off of Sherlock.

"I'm going to bed. Night Sherlock," John called to Sherlock as he headed for the stairs. Just as he was about to enter the hallway, Sherlock's voice rang through the quiet flat.

"John, wait," Sherlock called after him weakly. John froze in the door at the sound of Sherlock's voice. He sounded whiny, as if he was pleading with John. John turned around to face the detective not sure if he really wanted to.

"What is it Sherlock?" John asked him tiredly as he sighed and padded a little bit back into the living room.

"I think I am sick," Sherlock told him. This was what John was afraid of. Sherlock didn't look good either. Well, this was bloody perfect. Now he was going to have to take care of the sick detective which would probably be a nightmare.

"Symptoms?" John asked him slipping into his doctor mode as he walked over to Sherlock and pressed his cold hand to Sherlock's forehead.

"Um, my stomach hurts and my head and my chest," Sherlock told him and John mentally nodded to himself. Yup, he had the flu. Great, just bloody perfect. This is exactly what he needed today.

"Sounds like you have the flue," John told him tiredly. Sherlock shook his head quickly like a petulant child.

"No, that's not it. This is different. It hurts here," Sherlock told John as he held his hand over his heart. His heart? That wasn't the flu. John started to get a little worried. Was it possible for Sherlock to have a heart attack at his age? Of course it was, he might not be a cardiac doctor, but he knew that much.

"You heart?' John asked him raising his eyebrow. Okay what was he going to do? Don't panic soldier, he mentally chided himself. Best thing to do was stay calm and get Sherlock to the hospital. "I don't think I can do anything for that. We might have to go to the hospital," John told him and Sherlock huffed. Great now he was going to put up a fight over going to the hospital like always.

"John, I think I'm in love," Sherlock finally said. John felt himself go numb at those words. Sherlock, in love? John couldn't help the jealousy that coursed through him. He tried to sound normal when he spoke again.

"Umm, how did you figure that?" John asked him as Sherlock sat up, getting closer to John who was sitting on the edge of the couch. John held his breath at Sherlock's sudden closeness before mentally chiding himself.

"Every time I see them I feel happy. I feel sad when their gone. I liked it when they take care of me and I feel as if my heart hurts whenever I look at them. Is this what love is supposed to feel like?" Sherlock asked John pulling a confused expression. Wow, Sherlock really was in love. John's heart clenched painfully at this revelation.

"Generally, yeah," John told him breaking out in a tight smile as he tried to play the role of supportive friend. "So, who's the lucky lady?" John asked him suddenly, not actually wanting to know. Sherlock laid back down on the couch, curling in on himself leaving John very confused. "Sherlock? Sherlock, what's wrong?" John asked him quickly as Sherlock curled into himself tighter. Oh no, one of his moods. He was probably feeling embarrassed about having admitted his feelings to John that he loved someone. Maybe it was Molly? Yeah, it was probably Molly.

Sherlock mumbled something into the couch cushions and John frowned, not having caught what h said. "What was that?" John asked him and Sherlock sat up, looking back at John, staring him right in the eyes.

"You," Sherlock told him louder than before. John stared back at him for a long moment, completely frozen and not sure if he had heard him right. When Sherlock word's finally registered with him he initially felt shock, and then happiness, and then confusion.

"Sherlock…," John said as he stared back at Sherlock. Suddenly, Sherlock leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly to John's. He pulled away just as John realized that Sherlock was kissing him, actually properly kissing him. Sherlock looked anywhere but at John. He looked like he was waiting for John to yell at him or tell him off. He looked so hurt, so much like a child. John reached out and gently grabbed his chin, turning Sherlock to face him before he leaned in and planted a kiss of his own to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock reacted a second later, moving his lips with John's trying to fill the kiss with every unspoken emotion, trying to show John just how much he cared for him as John tried to do the same. When they finally broke apart, breathing heavily as their forehead were pressed together, John chuckled his laughter mixing with Sherlock's deep baritone laughter that made John's heart swell with elation.

"John?' Sherlock asked hesitantly. Where did they go from here? Was Sherlock going to regret kissing him? John didn't know if they could go back to the way things were before now. He knew it had been hard for Sherlock to admit what he had, to kiss him like he had.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John asked him after what felt like the longest second of his life.

"I'm experiencing an increase in Oxytocin right now," Sherlock told him and the army doctor chuckled as he brought his hand up to Sherlock's face and rubbed the pad of his thumb over Sherlock's cheek bone.

"I love you too you idiot," John told him with a laugh before pressing another kiss to Sherlock's lips.

With those three words, Sherlock's whole life changed and for once he realized that Mycroft was wrong. Caring was an advantage. That night, the resident's off 221B fell asleep cuddled together on the couch and were not awoken until morning by the shriek of a very delighted Mrs. Hudson. Things would be changing at Baker Street soon, but what would never change is the love the blogger had for his detective.


	2. The Trouble With Sherlock Holmes

**Sherlock**

Sherlock had woken up that morning to find his blogger gone. It was then that Sherlock remembered that it was John's day to work down at the A&amp;E. Sherlock's good mood turned black and he had started off the day by taking his displeasure out on the wall. Why did John have to leave? Was working with Sherlock not enough? What was he supposed to do without his blogger? He had torn through the flat, terrorized Molly until she gave him another head, and had bugged Lestrade until he had been forcibly removed from the Yard. He had stormed back to the flat after that and had changed into his dressing gown and pajamas, throwing himself down on the couch and sulking. He wanted John. John always made things less boring.

When Sherlock finally heard footsteps on the stairs after the long hours had passed, he perked up lifting his head over the arm of the couch and anticipating seeing his doctor again. Sherlock frowned suddenly. Why did he care that much? It wasn't the first time John had come home for work or left him by himself all day. Why was this day any different? Sherlock forced himself to lay back down and rolled so his face was facing the back of the couch so John wouldn't be able to see his face. If he did, it would give away what Sherlock was feeling right now. That was what confused Sherlock the most, he wasn't sure how he was feeling. John finally shuffled into the flat, from the sound of his footsteps, Sherlock deduced that he was tired, probably a bad day at the clinic. Sherlock stole a glance at the army doctor as he moved towards the kitchen. He had been thrown up on three, no four times that day given the state of his jumper. Hmm, definitely a bad day.

"Got anything in? I'm starving?" John called to him. Sherlock hummed and agreement before he heard a cry of surprise come from the kitchen. Bugger, the severed head. John wasn't going to be happy about that. Wait, when did he suddenly start caring what John thought? "A severed head," John said angrily from the kitchen.

"Just tea for me thanks," Sherlock told him lazily as he tried to figure out what was wrong with him. Why did he care? He never cared what John thought about him keeping body parts in the fridge.

"Another bloody head! Sherlock!" John called as he stomped back into the living room. "Why is there a head in our refrigerator again?!" John all but yelled at him as he appeared to be trying to remain calm.

"It's an experiment," Sherlock told him innocently, as he tried to think back to what had been the change. It had started that morning, hadn't it? That's when he started thinking about John. How could he not think about John though? The man had infected every single room of his Mind Palace lately.

"Oh, yeah, an experiment. I should have thought of that, my apologies," John bit out sarcastically before he left Sherlock and went upstairs to his room. Sherlock sighed heavily. An angry John was never good. Sherlock waited until he heard John go into the bathroom and start the shower before he got up and crossed over to the window, running his hands through his unruly curls.

John, why John? Why was it that he couldn't keep thinking about him? What did that even mean? Sherlock tried to run through everything that had happened between them lately. They had been fighting, a lot. John was always tried, but that was understandable. He was still helping Sherlock on cases while working down at the A&amp;E. Sherlock didn't try to fight with John. He didn't like to upset him, but John hadn't understood the importance of his experiments lately. Sherlock was bored, he hadn't had a case in a while. Lestrade hadn't had anything for him in weeks and every case that had been coming in on his website had all been below a seven. Sherlock was starting to lose his mind. No cases since the Woman. Now that Sherlock thought about it, that was when things had changed between John and him. John had seemed…well, Sherlock didn't know how to describe it, but he was different than normal whenever Irene Adler was around.

He didn't know what was wrong with John. It wasn't like he was interested in Irene or anything, he loved John. Sherlock's widened in surprise as his words registered in his mind. He loved John? Where had that come from? Sherlock heard the shower turn off in the bathroom and immediately jumped towards the couch, his mind still reeling from the explanation he had come too. Of course he loved John. That was obvious. He couldn't not love the shorter man, but when had he fallen in love with him? When had this happened? Sherlock was still thinking it over when John padded back into the living room. He paused for a moment before going back into the kitchen. Sherlock could hear him ordering takeout. Mmm, John was always caring for him, making sure he ate. He had slipped into his Mind Palace, making his way to the room that looked like the flat at Baker Street that he had to create to contain John least he run around his Mind Palace. It didn't always help, but at least it was somewhere to visualize John.

He stared at the shorter man who was sitting in his armchair in his mind in his favorite oatmeal jumper than Sherlock liked. He was drinking tea and reading the paper, a bit of jam on the corner of his mouth. Sherlock sighed as he walked forward in his Mind Palace and sat in his chair, staring at John pensively. Why did he love John? Sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing side. As Mycroft always said, caring was not an advantage. Sherlock had always cared when it came to John. He was the only person Sherlock ever cared to impress. Sherlock looked over at John studying the army doctor. Sherlock knew exactly when he fell in love with the man. It had been that night, after their first case together. Sherlock had been so surprised when he found out it was John who had saved him. He had never expected John to do that. The army doctor always protected him after that. Sherlock had felt so confused, so hurt when John had walked out in the darkened pool.

For a brief moment he thought that John was Moriarty, that he had been betrayed by the only person he considered a friend, but then his heart had run cold as soon as John revealed the bomb strapped to his chest. Then, John tried to risk his life to save him, him of all people. He had also run after him in the museum as soon as the shots were fired, and risked his life multiple times for him. Sherlock was broken out of his Mind Place at the noise of someone putting a mug down by his head. He opened his eyes and saw that John had brought him tea. That was one of the reasons he loved John. He was always so thoughtful, making Sherlock tea whenever he made himself some. There was a long list of reason which Sherlock was no compiling now that he knew what it was that was the cause of why John was always on his mind.

"Thank you John," Sherlock told the other man happily as he picked up his tea mug, blowing on the hot tea before taking a sip. Ah, John made the best tea in all of London, exactly how he liked it. Sherlock looked up to find the army doctor's mouth hanging open in shock, making him look like a gold fish before he snapped it shut.

Um, yeah, sure," John stammered as he squirmed in his chair and then picked up the paper. Sherlock watched the army doctor. How could he tell him? John always told people he wasn't gay. He couldn't tell John. If he found out he would feel too uncomfortable to live there anymore and then he would leave Sherlock like everyone else had. He couldn't lost John, his blogger. He could do this. He had done it before he realized he loved John. He would just have to be careful, be mindful to not invade John's personal space as much as he had before. Sherlock frowned as he noted that John hadn't turned the page in over five minutes. Even John's reading wasn't that slow. What was John thinking about? Had he realized something was wrong with him? Sherlock jumped as the doorbell rang downstairs. He quickly looked away to the window so John wouldn't catch him staring at him. He was lucky, he looked away just as John was starting to put down his newspaper. The man cleared his throat as he got to his feet.

"I'll go and get that, shall I," John said as he grabbed his wallet from him jacket and headed off down the stairs. Sherlock froze, had John caught him staring? No, no probably not, he had been careful. He would just have to watch out in the future. Sherlock got to his feet and walked into the kitchen, pulling open various cabinets before he found the plates and then looking around until he found the drawer with the silverware. He washed them quickly, not knowing when last they had been washed or if it was possible that they had been contaminated by chemicals at some point. John would probably appreciate not getting poisoned. He brought them back into the living room , setting them out before turning to look at the door where John was standing frozen in the door way.

"Are you just going to stand there?" Sherlock asked him, slightly amused by the look on John's face. John shook his head, seemingly breaking out of whatever thoughts he was having, before he padded over to the coffee table and started unloading the food from the bag. He pulled one of the kitchen chairs up to the coffee table so he could use the surface before sitting down as Sherlock took a seat on the couch. John started piling his plate with food as Sherlock started to do the same. Maybe John would be in a better mood if he ate something. While Sherlock was thinking, he wasn't paying attention to what was happening. It was then that their hands suddenly brushed against each other as they both reached for one of the take out containers. Both men pulled their hands back quickly. Sherlock noticed John blush with embarrassment as he looked away. Sherlock bit his lip as he felt the spot where John's skin had come in contact with his own heat up as if he had been burnt.

"Sorry, mate," John apologized still not looking up at him. Sherlock was trying not to panic, but he felt the blood rush out of his cheeks. Idiot, he should have been more careful.

"No, no it's fine," Sherlock told John quickly, John's gaze immediately snapping to Sherlock's. He stared into the blue eyes of his blogger, noting that his pupils were slightly dilated. Was John sick? Maybe, he had been around sick people all day. He didn't look well either.

"You feeling alright Sherlock? You look a little pale. Well, paler than normal," John asked him in concern. Sherlock froze, trying to get a control of himself. He was a grown man of superior intelligence, not a lovesick teenager. "Maybe you should go lay down for a bit," John suggested and Sherlock felt his heart swell with love for his doctor who was always taking care of him.

"No, I'm fine," Sherlock told John a little weakly before repeating himself, his voice a little firmer the second time as he tried to convince himself to this fact. "I'm fine."

The rest of the meal passed in silence. Sherlock stole glances at John whenever he was sure he wasn't watching him. When both of them had finished eating, Sherlock surprising himself by eating everything on his plate, John cleared up the leftovers and their dishes as Sherlock laid back on the couch and sat in his prayer position as he tried to figure out what he was going to do about this new development. It was going to be a lot harder than he thought.

"I'm going to bed. Night Sherlock," John suddenly called, breaking Sherlock out of his own inner musings. Sherlock's eyes snapped open and fell on John's retreating form as he headed for his bedroom.

"John, wait," Sherlock called after him weakly, cursing to himself for how childish his voice sounded as he pleaded for John to turn around and come back to him. John froze in the door way before turning around to face him.

"What is it Sherlock?" John asked him tiredly as he sighed and padded a little bit back into the living room.

"I think I am sick," Sherlock told him as he felt his stomach twist painfully. His head hurt, his stomach hurt, and he just generally didn't feel well. Maybe he was sick. His heart definitely hurt as he watched John walk away from him, but that just might be because he hated when John left him even if it was just for a little while.

"Symptoms?" John asked him slipping into his doctor mode as he walked over to Sherlock and pressed his cold hand to Sherlock's forehead.

"Um, my stomach hurts and my head and my chest," Sherlock told him truthfully, sighing inwardly at John's touch which instantly made him feel better, until he pulled his hand way from his forehead.

"Sounds like you have the flue," John told him tiredly. Sherlock shook his head quickly like a petulant child.

"No, that's not it. This is different. It hurts here," Sherlock told John as he held his hand over his heart.

"You heart?' John asked him raising his eyebrow. Before looking at Sherlock worriedly. "I don't think I can do anything for that. We might have to go to the hospital," John told him and Sherlock huffed. John wasn't getting it.

"John, I think I'm in love," Sherlock finally said. He couldn't stand John not knowing. He didn't want to tell John, but he wasn't going to be able to keep something like this from him. John always knew when something was wrong with him.

"Umm, how did you figure that?" John asked him as Sherlock sat up, getting closer to John who was sitting on the edge of the couch.

"Every time I see them I feel happy. I feel sad when their gone. I liked it when they take care of me and I feel as if my heart hurts whenever I look at them. Is this what love is supposed to feel like?" Sherlock asked John feeling confused as he admitted his feelings.

"Generally, yeah," john told him breaking out in a smile which made Sherlock feel elated. He wasn't rejecting him! "So, who's the lucky lady?" John asked him suddenly. Sherlock felt his heart crush in his chest. He didn't understand. Sherlock laid back down on the couch, curling in on himself. John would never understand. "Sherlock? Sherlock, what's wrong?" John asked him quickly as Sherlock curled into himself tighter as his heart hurt for a different reason.

"You," Sherlock mumbled quietly as he felt his heart breaking. John had been the only one to ever understand him and now he found out he had been wrong about that.

"What was that?" John asked him and Sherlock sat up, looking back at John, staring him right in the eyes.

"You," Sherlock told him louder than before. John stared back at him for a long moment and Sherlock waited for John to speak to say something. Finally he did.

"Sherlock…," John said as he stared back at Sherlock. On impulse, Sherlock leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly to John's. He pulled away, looking anywhere but at John. He was waiting for the yelling, for John to push him away, to call him a freak. He was not however expecting John to turn his face towards him and plant a kiss of his own to Sherlock's lips. Sherlock reacted, moving his lips with John's trying to fill the kiss with every unspoken emotion, trying to show John just how much he cared for him. When they finally broke apart, breathing heavily as their forehead were pressed together, Sherlock finally chuckled as did John.

"John?' Sherlock asked hesitantly. Where did they go from here? Was John going to regret kissing him back? Sherlock fiddled with his hands on the edges of his bathrobe nervously as he waited for John to speak.

"Yes, Sherlock?" John asked him after what felt like the longest second of his life.

"I'm experiencing an increase in Oxytocin right now," Sherlock told him and the army doctor chuckled as he brought his hand up to Sherlock's face and rubbed the pad of his thumb over Sherlock's cheek bone.

"I love you too you idiot," John told him with a laugh before pressing another kiss to Sherlock's lips.

With those three words, Sherlock's whole life changed and for once he realized that Mycroft was wrong. Caring was an advantage. That night, the resident's off 221B fell asleep cuddled together on the couch and were not awoken until morning by the shriek of a very delighted Mrs. Hudson. Things would be changing at Baker Street soon, but what would never change is the love the detective had for his blogger.


End file.
